Riders in the Storm
by SuperVikinggirl
Summary: This is my first installment of what will be a different direction Season 9 could have gone. In this chapter, Sam has an idea of what Dean has done, to him. And Sam is not happy about it! Rated MA for bad language, a little violence...but mostly just in case. Please let me know what you think of it!


Chapter 1

"Son of a God-damned Bitch!" Sam furiously spat. His lips tight, his jaw clenching, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides while the need to Hulk-smash something, anything, preferably his brother's lying face, overtook his senses with a vengeance.

He'd just figured it out.

The missing time, the black-outs, the waking up or realization that he was in a different place or room and sometimes, just not remembering what he was doing. Sam had been freaked thinking that he was losing his mind or suffering from some sort of epliliptic fits, but now he knew. Oh, Sam knew.

And then there was Dean.

Dean, who'd been treading on tip-toes around Sam. Dean, who'd been assuring the younger Winchester that Sam was fine. Just tired or 'over-doing it'. Dean, who'd dismiss the younger brother's fear that there might actually be something seriously wrong with Sam as an hour seemed to fly by in minutes. Dean, who shrugged off Sam's supposed memory losses as he would suddenly find himself in a room in the bunker he didn't even remember walking into. Dean, who evaded Sam's questions.

Dean, who'd been lying to him since the night the angels fell.

"Son of a God-damned Bitch, Dean!" he seethed, shoulders rigid, stomach clenched. The anger bubbling inside him.

Dean, who had known all along.

Sam had just figured it out and he was churning in rage and disappointment, shocked that his own brother would even do such a thing. To him. To his own little brother!

The first few days, after that night in the church, Sam just slept and rested. But, after a few weeks he started to get concerned. There were times when he was feeling fine, he had more energy, no fevers…But next he knew he'd just 'come-to' in a different room in the bunker than he remembered. Or he'd be talking to Dean for what seemed ten minutes only to realize that a half hour went by. And shockingly it was happening with increasing regularity.

Dean just shrugged it off. Part of the recovery from the trials, he said. To be expected, he'd claim. Then Dean would convince his little brother that Sam was pushing too hard, overtaxing his still fragile body – only Sam felt great! Well, at least, better than he had in months. Eventually Sam became convinced that Dean was hiding something from him, but what?

So, Sam did what he did best. He hit the books. Looked through medical texts and sites looking for illnesses or diseases that could possibly cause his symptoms. But he found nothing. Well, then, It had to be something supernatural causing this.

But what?

He hit the Bunker's library, leafing through arcane texts. What could alter his perceptions? What could cause the sensation of losing time or make him black-out?

The only answer that kept popping up was demonic possession.

But if that was the answer…..why was Dean acting oddly and not exorcising the hell-bent creature right out of him?

Sam poured holy water all over himself, practically bathed in it. He even drank it, guzzled the stuff until he was bloated and peeing every quarter hour like he was a pregnant woman. But no reaction. No burning, no stinging…nothing.

The next experiment involved a devil's trap, a voice-recorded high level Latin exorcism rite played back on a loop, a video recorder and goofer dust. Again, nothing. No smoke and no black eyes.

And every free moment of time he had, Sam was back Hell-bent on trying to figure this out. Because still, all Dean would do was reiterate that the damaged done by the trials was still wreaking havoc on Sam.

Sam even thought that perhaps Dean's evasiveness, Dean's treating Sam with kid-gloves (especially when Sam was trying to express what he was experiencing) might actually come from what Sam had said that night in the abandoned Church. That he was ok with dying and that Dean had made it clear to Sam that the younger Winchester was a disappointment and a fuck-up – even though Dean claimed that he'd 'never put anything in front of' him

But, after a while, he was sure there was something else just nagging at the back of this brain, but hell if he could figure it out! And all the while, his big brother just kept telling Sam that his body was still messed up, the trials hadn't let him go yet. And Sam bought it, wanted to buy it. Had trusted his only family to have his back.

The thing is that Sam had spent probably his whole life looking up to his hero-big brother. Studying his every move, needing to know his every thought, desperate for his companionship, his love and his approval. Because of this, Sam could comfortably surmise that he knew his brother's every move. And right now, Sam knew that Dean wasn't telling him the truth. He'd been lying to him this whole time.

But now…..now he knew.

"DEAN!"

And Sam was fuming.

Nothing could be worse! His greatest fear coming true – and the one person he trusted the most to have his back, to protect Sam when he couldn't protect himself – well, that person betrayed him. Then lied about it.

He was searching room by room for his brother. And with every step, with every room devoid of Dean, his fury, his disappointment, his feeling of betrayal increased a notch until it became over whelming. Until he felt like he was going to smash his big brother's bones.

"DEAN"

All that anger and the feeling of duplicity was mixed with a primal panic, born from Sam's previous experience of being helpless inside his own brain. Of Meg. Of Lucifer. Of being trapped while something else sullied his body, compelling his hands to perform terrible deeds.

An angel. An angel is inside me – or a very high level demon – but it felt like an angel, like when Lucifer rode him. Sam still remembered what that felt like. He still shot out of bed with night terrors of remembrance, of horrifying acts his body carried out without his consent. Without his control.

Yeah, he knew and it was time to confront Dean about it. 'Cause Sam was sure Dean knew about it too.

"DE-…"

"Yeah, Sam. Un-bunch those flowered panties, Dude, I'm right here…" Dean shook his head as he ducked his head out the hallway, wondering what was up with 'Samantha' this time…only for his jaw to be met with Sam's anger fused, white knuckled, heavy-handed fist.

Dean blinked and found himself ass-to-floor, one hand holding his upper body upright, the other already formed into a responding fist.

But this was his brother lurching over him with storms in his sights, not some monstrous creature needing to depart this earth. So, Dean forced his reactions to stand down, turned his head up to face his towering Sasquatch of a brother, while stars sparkled in his vision.

"Sam, you have better have one hell of a reason for that or I swear, I'll pound you down to a pancake. So spill" Dean growled, jaw on fire where Sam's mitt struck his.

"How could you do this to me, Dean?" Sam demanded harshly, still looming over his brother, his hands still fisting and un-fisting with the pulsing of rage.

"I trusted you! I stopped closing the gates of Hell for you…..My worst….you know how I feel about…..FUCK! DEAN! You lied!

"Whoa, Sam. You've gotta breathe, man. Just do me a favor and breathe –"

"No! Don't you-"

"Come on, calm down –No, I get it Sam. You're pissed. You're pissed at me. And that's Ok. Look, I'm not saying I don't deserve it. But dude, you need to breathe, right now or you'll hyperventilate. And it kinda loses the whole pissed-off thing if you pass-out on me, man…"

Dean heaved himself to his feet as the bunker dipped and twirled. And, it passed through his slightly spinning mind that Sam had a pretty decent right hook there. Good enough to take Dean down before he knew what hit him. And that made Dean proud of his little brother. Hell, he's always been proud of his Sammy. It also made Dean think that maybe that right hook packed more of a wallop than he figured with his mind wandering off like this.

Dean's eyes searched for his brothers' wanting to check on Sam's breathing and was startled as he clued-in that Sam's hand was pushed up against his chest, pinning him upright against the hallway wall. Or was he holding him up? Dean wasn't sure, but he noted that Sam's breathing had finally evened out, and he knew it was time to spill.

Damn, he sure wasn't looking forward to this and he wondered if Sammy would let that right hook fly at him again. But Dean figured he'd more than likely deserved that too.

"Ok, Sam. Let's talk. But I think I might need to sit down."

.


End file.
